Page 160 of Irreversible

“He was here my first night, watching me dance.”

Queenie sends me a perplexed look. “So was I, along with half this place.”

“Yeah, but…it was more than that. I saw him outside the club when I was leaving. There was something about him. I tried to talk to him, but he stormed away. He was kind of intense.”

“The silent type—a rare breed I can appreciate.” She lifts off the stool and slaps a twenty-dollar bill on the counter. Hesitating, she glances down at me. “Did you feel unsafe? This isn’t a cry for help, is it?”

“No.”

“You sure? Say the word and I’ll have Len drag his ass out of here if?—”

“I’m fine, Queenie. Promise.” It’s true. Maybe my intuition is all wrong, but, despite the dark intensity rolling off him in waves, I never felt true danger. I still don’t. “It was just an odd encounter, that’s all. But…in an intriguing way, I guess.”

“Well, try talking to him again. Maybe he’s just what the doctor ordered.”

“What’s that?”

“A quickie with a hot stranger. Looks like he’d do the trick.” Squeezing my shoulder, she leans in and adds, “That’ll chase away your nerves real fast.”

My skin hums with warmth, my insides buzzing. I haven’t had sex in years. The closest I came to intimacy was that night with Isaac through the wall.

The dirty talk.

Chloe and Nick.

And I suppose that makes me a hypocrite, considering the situation with Jasper and Allison. I thought my husband was dead, so I crossed a line with the man on the other side of my wall. But I thought I was going to die, too. It was my only form of solace at the time. Human connection.

I can’t feel guilty about it; there’s no room for any more self-blame.

My cheeks burn when the stranger slowly looks up again, his explosive eyes settling on mine. They look angry. Piercing.

Energy crackles in the air. A strange feeling unfurls between my ribs, clawing and poking.

No.

Stop it.

It can’t be him.

That wouldn’t make any sense.

I’m searching for something that isn’t there because Ineedit to be there. I needit to be him so I can relieve myself of this self-inflicted grief.

Queenie disappears into the crowd, leaving me alone with my stare down as I study the unnerving mystery man. He looks away a few times, but his eyes always trail back to mine. There’s a pull. A magnetism.

Reining in my courage, I set down my glass and stand from the stool, smoothing out my purple-sequined dress and fiddling with my fake bangs. The man stiffens. I keep watching him, keep making sure he doesn’t run away from me again.

I want his name. His voice.

Confirming or disproving.

I circle behind the bar stools as he tosses a wad of cash on the counter. My eyes are locked on his profile while everything around me blurs. I move, dodging people and leering glances along the way.

But the moment I’m about to reach him, a hand grabs me by the arm.

I jump in place, pivoting around and coming face to face with an older gentleman with silver glasses to match his thinning hair.

“Excuse me, Miss. I couldn’t help but notice you sitting over there. Are you performing tonight?”

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